Striped Green
by mellish
Summary: [Suikoden III] While waiting for his scarf to dry, Nash realizes he has very little, and can't have a lot.
1. Morning

A/N: Takes place after Chris and Nash visit the Water Altar at Alma Kinan, and before they find Wyatt. This story follows the manga version of events, but certain scenes from the game do apply. Possible spoilers, and very slight ChrisxNash. Please see author's note at the end.

"_It is easy to despise what you know you cannot have." - The Fox and the Grapes, Aesop's Fables_

**STRIPED GREEN**

**I. Morning**

Anyone who asks me where I got my scarf will have the answer of 'my missus', but in truth, it was given to me by my sister, a product of her school's home economics program, which she had tried so very hard to ace. The casual striped green had run and come off in some places, but the memories of home, and of Julie in particular, were what really made me treasure wearing it, and why it was so special, even now. When I had first left to go journeying, it had been my sole source of comfort and warmth, the frayed edges at once reminding me of how she had pricked her finger an endless amount of times only to get an average grade in the end. Having wept over it piteously ("Oh honestly, all that effort, wasted!"), I had smiled and cuddled her close and told her _I _still thought it was great, and she could still pursue her seamstress dreams (because she switched fancies every week, starting with author, actress, singer, and for the longest time after, _teacher_,) if she really, really wanted to.

"Fine then, you can have it. But now I want to be a professional florist."

Her dreams were so far-fetched, I could only laugh. Thinking back on it now, though, I realize that's what she would have been best at: arranging flowers (or hairdressing?).

After those first few travels, and when Julie started hating me, it had been more rugged then ever before. Much as I didn't want to ruin its authenticity, I had to, because it was torn in some places, and the frayed edges were threatening to unravel completely. I took it to a proper seamstress, who fixed it up nearly good as new; I have been taking meticulous care of it ever since. It rarely ever leaves my neck.

It's interesting how when you wear something long enough, it becomes a real part of you – an irremovable organ instead of a detached ornament. It's a strange feeling: a comfort, mostly, but sometimes it can be a bother too. Especially if whatever you're wearing tends to get dirty.

I felt as if someone was dragging out my liver as I unwound my scarf from around my head and dropped it into the stout woman's laundry basket. Her bright face looked heavily into mine. "Not much to wash today, have we?"

I shrugged. "I put off cleaning that for so long; it really is the only thing that needs it. I take care of my other garments well enough, so there's no need for me to have less of them." I laughed smartly, having meant it in jest, but she must've taken me seriously to some extent. A hot blush spread over her already ruby cheeks, and I tried with some difficulty to remember if she was married., and how much I had spoken sweetly in order to get my laundry done for free.

"Anyway, I'll be picking it up this afternoon since we're only staying in the village for a day or so before we press on."

She raised an eyebrow, suddenly miffed. "'We' being who, sir?" I very nearly answered honestly; then I remembered I was going to have to deter her from any notions about us together.

I took in the wobbly stomach behind the white apron and the fiercely flushed face, and hastily replied, "My missus, of course. We're on a…third honeymoon, of sorts." I eased on a believable grin.

Unable to disguise her disappointment, the crimson seeped out of her face and she gazed limply into the basket. "Oh, I see. My own Arthur, he never did take me on a proper honeymoon, but that's what ye get when ye marry a potions merchant." She looked at me rather woefully. "Well, ye'll come back to pick it up in three hours, I want it to dry up a bit after, see."

"To be sure, ma'am. I heard you've got the best soap in town."

The words slipped out of my tongue just quick enough so I couldn't catch them. Tooooo much flattery, Nash! I saw the phantom blush coming back onto her countenance and hurriedly stepped back, gave a wave, and shot out of the door. A bell sounded cheerily, and when the last of the wood had closed one could clearly seen the sign bearing the words, _Sally's Laundry Service._

_-xx-_

"I don't go to whorehouses! I'm _married_, for crying out loud!"

"The bar, then. Drinking."

"I told you, it was just the laundry."

"Laundry! Nash, we need to get a _move_ _on_. You always pride on washing your own clothes!"

"Yes, but only with river water and no soap! I needed soap!"

"Whatever for!"

Her narrowed eyes caught sight of my surprisingly bare neck.

"Oh, please…"

"Hey, that scarf's very important to me."

"Why? Because your missus, or maybe Jeanie or Beth or Kate or Sandra or WHOEVER, gave it?"

"Can't I at least say I've got a missus and have you believe it? I wouldn't wear an old girlfriend's trinket all the time, would I? Besides, I never dated anyone with any of those names – well, except for Kate, and that was when I was like…fifteen, or something." I smirked.

Her eyebrows tightened across her forehead in anger. "Three hours wasted!"

"So? Come on, you can wait a little. Sleep or something. You're tired."

"Can't you stop being so disgustingly suggestive even for just a few _minutes_?"  
"I never suggested anything!"

"Then wipe that stupid grin on your face!"

I did as she requested, graciously and quickly enough. I had promised to myself quietly, in some corner of my mind before, that I'd let her win a battle just once, because my endless victories were wearing her out. And getting on her nerves.

I saw her lips press together in irritation and remembered that oath, but right now I couldn't afford to lose. It wasn't pride, but my liver. My scarf.

"Think of it this way - we have enough time to restock on our supplies and check out the village weaponry and armory, right?"

I could see she was going to have to raise a white flag soon. I waited expectantly. She struggled with herself for a moment, then straightened her shoulders and, in a supreme effort of humility, muttered 'fine'. I did my best not to smile or seem relieved, and gestured for the door. "To the shops, then?"

"I suppose so." Chris didn't acknowledge me with so much as a glance even as I held the door open for her, walking past as stiff and strong as her pride would allow, her bright leather boots heavy on the inn's hardwood as she descended the stairs.

_-xx-_

Strangely enough, she doesn't even know my name.

Clovis suits me well. It's a handy alias, scraped off and plagiarized from a worn-down label on an ancient whisky bottle in the Latjke cellar – found because of Lena's dare, and treasured and remembered because well, it sounds cool, doesn't it? Much better than my real name, which has caused much spite and a handful of assassins to be pointed in my direction. Nobody even knows that it's from wine, because ever since the Redrum family had started churning out their own brand, _Clovis Whisky _had probably gone out of business. I use it at my leisure, only reverting back to Latjke with my very few familiars.

I wish now, though, that I hadn't thought it up so easily.

Looking at Chris, who sometimes calls me simply _Clovis_ out of pure sarcasm (or maybe because she wants to be polite to spite me,) I can't help but regretting it. I never meant to lie.

No, wait. I _did_ mean to.

Only I didn't expect myself to start honestly _caring_.

She eyed me from over the racks of medicine bottles in the store, weary now. She hasn't spoken to me over the last thirty minutes, our avoidance further marked by the distance she kept in staying near me. Two and a half hours to go. We needed to communicate soon, and rather than have herself snob me, she took the initiative and started talking. "How many healing medicines do we have left in stock, anyway?"

"Four," I answered, as casual as possible.

"Only!" She said it with surprise, but toned down the incredulity in her voice. I could almost _hear_ her wanting to add, "You let our stocks be reduced to _that little_?" Still, if we'd debate on that, she'd lose most definitely. It wouldn't do at all. Instead, she started for the counter, calling steadily over her shoulder. "In that case, we ought to buy some more. You should've told me sooner."

"Sorry, Chris."

She spoke to the shopkeeper quickly, making out that she hadn't heard my apology.

I stood by the wall, inspecting a plate that indicated the shop items' authenticity. The merchant's name, engraved in the ivory, was a reminder that if I died now, the name that would go down for me would be a falsehood. A lie.

Chris will most certainly have a hundred mounts, if not statues, done in her honor. Every one of them will echo a truth, and a daunting legacy, in the inscription of _LIGHTFELLOW_.

That is, of course, if she doesn't get married.

_-xx-_

On the way to the weaponry, we passed by a tailor's shop. The brightly lit store window displayed a bridal grown, full-on white and pink, trimmed with lace and flowers. It reminded me of my own unreal bride, and with it, my unreal wedding and home and heart. I tried to think of something witty to say; a new adjective or tale to add to my missus's credit, whoever she was – but the display must have stirred thoughts of my wife for Chris, too, because she suddenly asked,

"Isn't she worried about you?"

It wasn't a question done out of kindness, but out of point blank curiosity.

"I wouldn't feel well at ease knowing my husband was off somewhere, possibly getting into harm. Not that I know much about such things," She coughed uncomfortably. "I figured anyone would. And if indeed you are notorious for being what you _are_, I'd have even more reason to fret."

I laid a hand on my hip languidly. "My missus trusts me, unlike some women around here."

"I can't imagine why she would."

Easy. "I send her messages from time to time."

"Messages full of lying, no doubt."

In reality, I couldn't say anything to that. But it didn't matter, because I was keeping up this game for as long as I could; or for as long as Sasarai asked me to, whichever ended first. Instead, I shook my head. "What makes you so certain that I never tell the truth? I can be honest."

She whirled away from the store window and crossed her arms, daring. "Prove it, then."

I raised an eyebrow, indifferent. "All right. You want my honest opinion on something? I _do _think you'd look great in that wedding dress."

Exasperated now, she shut her mouth with a great effort and stomped on down the road.

"Hey, I was telling the truth," I whined after her. She had tilted her head to indicate she wasn't listening, and I could almost hear the cobblestone underneath her heels screeching with pain. I probably shouldn't have said that, knowing how much it would aggravate her – but I _had _been completely earnest in saying that. What guy wouldn't want Chris Lightfellow walking down his own wedding aisle?

As far as lifelong vows went, though, it wouldn't do for a flighty, constantly on-the-go guy for me. Besides, settling down with someone would…cramp my style?

No, I was lying to myself. Of course I would've loved to have a real missus.

I started down the road after Chris, thinking about all the other girls who could've been wearing such a dress, and for me. Lena _had _given me a kiss once – but that was in order for me to escape, and she had dug her fingernails into my scalp really hard as a reminder. Besides, living with her and her garishly strict tendencies would be difficult, and she _was _my aunt. I couldn't bear anyone too clingy or needy either – a reminder of that blond teenager who had so affectionately tugged at my hand and declared me her biggest crush once. Nina, was it? I had met so many lovely ladies on my travels, their names were starting to melt and fuse in my mind. There was that teleportress, yes, and Elza from the guild (what a coincidence that was,) and…the lady that I had tried to help out during the Dunan Unification War. And…oh yes. One name stayed stuck in my mind, and would _always_.

Sierra Mikain.

I choked back a snicker, remembering her batty insults and sharp tongue and how she had so often clocked me a good one. I wondered where she was now, and which poor unfortunate fiend she was bloodsucking dry. Of course, she had taken the liberty of fleeing while I was asleep, without even leaving my porter's fee (and I had shipped much more than the price was worth, truly). That had been extremely unfair – and when I had helped her vanquish her bloodthirsty old boyfriend, too! Then I remembered the deep crimson of her eyes and how, overrun with the passion of youth, I had told her once I wouldn't mind becoming a vampire for her, really.

It was a thought that jolted me.

Had I honestly been prepared to do all that? Give up _humanity_, for crying out loud?

…I couldn't guess what exactly I had been thinking then. Too many years had worn down such fiery resolution – now I was cautious, and learned, and sure. On the inside, at least, because such things weren't exactly for showing on the outside, if you wanted to get across to women.

Really, I had cared for Sierra; however, she was a vampire (mother of all vampires, actually), and a bearer of the true rune. Even if she hadn't left me then, no matter how long she stayed, I would still be somewhat behind. Also, her form was _sixteen_. Twenty-one years would set us too far apart, making our relationship look disturbingly wrong. And she was too callous, too demanding. We'd probably quarrel if we were together, and I'd never have peace (not that I ever did).

Still, I closed my eyes and silently wished her well, whatever she was doing,

Then my thoughts drifted back to my 'missus'.

She had all the ghoulish qualities of an inflamed Sierra, an insulted Lena, and a stubborn Chris. She was also very strict and staunchly powerful; she didn't hold any true love for me, yet she had no qualms about my qualifications, and that suited us both fine. Some days she mattered, and some days she was the farthest thing from my mind; but I had pledged my loyalty to her, and that was why I was never _entirely _free. I _had_ sworn 'till death do we part' to something --

My work, which I couldn't sacrifice real love in any sort of form for.

This reminded me, just as the weaponry door banged shut behind me, that I needed to send word to Sasarai soon on the development of things. We had been to the Water Altar of Alma Kinan, and to the battle at Chisha (much to my disagreement), and were now finally _really _on the trail of Wyatt Lightfellow. I stepped out for a moment when Chris was too deeply absorbed in asking about the attributes of that lovely broadsword on display, and heaved a whistle on the street – not for any passing ladylove, but for a messenger bird.

"For the bishop, Dominguez Jr. And no side comments this time."

* * *

A/N: This takes place in a fictional village, because I didn't know enough about the different villages to apply them as a setting in this story, and besides, even if I did, I would have taken far too many liberties. My knowledge of their world is limited as it is, but I hope it seems apt enough to be taken for any random town.

Because this story is supposed to explain certain stuff, like Nash's undercover name, I had to make up a lot of things, but I did my best to be realistic. I don't really know much about the Suikogaiden games, and I haven't even finished my own file in Suikoden III, but I hope no storyline mistakes were too glaring. Also, his feelings and thoughts on Sierra may not be flattering, but that's what _I _think he'd feel, at least. I don't mean to put down the coupling, of course. That's all very well too. :D

This was initially one big body of work, but I decided to clip it down into chapters for clarity. If you enjoyed it, please leave a review. I'll be uploading the following chapters soon.


	2. Noon

**STRIPED GREEN**

**II. Noon**

An hour and a half left, then we could retrieve my scarf and get a move on. Chris had cheered considerably, having upgraded her guarding equipment to two levels higher. I decided to let her sunny mood last as long as it would, and refrained from making any crass comments that would cause her to rage again. It was a little past noon, and the sun was bright upon the cloudless sky. In this heat my scarf would most certainly be well-dried. Restaurants and bars were starting to open, inviting people to dine and drink. I remembered how we had skipped breakfast that morning in order to inquire about the following forest's routes, and now that a nearby café bell was tinkling, I was reminded of my own pitiful stomach. Growling.

"Are you hungry?" I stopped rather abruptly in my tracks.

"I'm all right," She began, but I saw her try to avert her gaze from the inviting interiors of the restaurant.

"It's lunch time," I said decidedly.

She was in too good a mood to protest, so we entered to the delight of the waiter, and sat ourselves down in a neat little table. I couldn't help but think aloud. "This is turning out to be some sort of date, huh?"

"You wish," She hissed, a warning tone returning.

"Ah, but I do wish so. A café meal like this is rather intimate, don't you think?"

She raised her menu as a barrier between us in reply.

How cute.

Most of the time, when I'm looking at Chris, it's like I'm looking at a hero statue come alive. For all her insecurities, she's strong and her decisions (though her own belief in them is rarely sure), are always made for the good of all. Her pride only flares up when she's arguing with me – I know she bows her head, and shifts her eyes shyly away from her adoring fans, when they recognize her. Zexen weighs heavily on her shoulders, but she bears the weight without even slouching to afford her body some slack. Her knights depend on her and look up to her with blazing intensity. They'd fling themselves over a cliff for her – but she doesn't abuse her power, even then. I know lots of girls who would (like that ancient hag, who maltreated me, _alone _– imagine what she'd do with a harem at her disposal!)

Maybe that's why one can't help but admire her. She's not simple; she's got great things ahead of her. A destiny. A fate. Something so admirable, if it were a color it would be gold – or silver, as that seems to be her preference. Even dressed down in her causal clothes, without the shiny armor and carefully arranged hair, she looks regal. Like a goddess pretending to be mortal.

At other times, though, she lets down her guard and you can see she could really use some guidance. I'm under the constant awareness that even if we _are _somewhat looking for the flame champion, the person we're _really _searching for is Chris's father. Even if, when I speak to her about it, she tries to change the subject, or answers in a brusque tone, "I only want to know if he truly _is _alive, that's all," I can't forget how she actually shed a tear that time I spoke of him in Budehuc, or how she sobbed onto Yun's shoulder after the Alma Kinan girl explained some things about Wyatt. She was such a little girl sometimes, but she couldn't ever show it – what would her knights, and the citizens, think?

It could kinda bring out the big brother in me. I would remember Julie, feel a grate in my side because now we'd always be too much apart, and then would come the desperate urge to care for someone younger, and more fragile and in need.

But Chris wouldn't need that sort of help, or even if she did, she would never admit it.

Nobody ever seemed to want my brotherly advice.

The waiter had come by to stand eagerly, with a fold of paper in his hand and a napkin draped around his arm. I asked for his recommendations, then briefly considered a meal of marinated pork cutlet, before deciding on some steamed salmon. And water, under the prompting cough of Chris, because we really shouldn't waste money on wine. She ordered steak and mixed greenery, and water, too, and the waiter repeated our orders properly. When that was done and we had both confirmed his accuracy with polite tips of the head, he rushed away and we were left to stare at each other quietly because, well, the menus were gone.

"Stop staring," She grumbled.

"Why? You're staring back. And it's difficult for me to take my eyes off you."

She turned her head to give me cheek, quite literally, and stared out the window at the main village street, where several pigeons were beginning to crowd the citizens, bothering them for bread. I felt proud for a moment, thinking of how Dominguez wasn't dimwitted like the local birds. Then, since the thought wasn't enough to occupy me for long, I took to gazing at Chris again, my favorite hobby since we started traveling together nearly three weeks ago.

She really IS beautiful. I could go into long, passionate litanies about her stunning eyes, her lovely hair, the fairness of her flesh…but really, there's no need for that, and besides, I had to keep from liking her _too _much. There was the admiration, brotherly affection, and certainly the fondness _any _guy would have for such exquisite beauty. I'll admit too, that I do enjoy teasing her and aggravating her to some extent. But I can't stare at her too softly, or think about her too much.

She's Zexen, a knight captain, and she plays a big role in the workings of fate. Of all those things I'm certain. Who knows, before this whole ordeal is done she might even have a True Rune on her hand – a hand which is best left to one of her knights to take. Not that she'd even fallen for my charm so far. I was actually beginning to wonder if she ever _would_.

It was exactly why things hadn't worked with Sierra – we were too different.

_Too different._ Always.

I tried to embrace the thought of loneliness, even as my gaze on Chris melted into something more dangerously affectionate, but in order to snap myself out of it I managed to churn up some witty, aggravating remark that made her snap her head back and slap me on the arm, and I laughed, and she realized I only did that to annoy her. She'd started to grow hot with embarrassment and rage, but eventually, seeing how good-natured I was, she laughed too.

The waiter served us our meals and while I'm not in love, I did feel a tug somewhere inside me as I grinned at her and said, "Lets eat!" It must have been my stomach, though, because I was starving. I devoured the meal with much gusto.

_-xx-_

Having paid a generous tip for the good meal, we left the restaurant and began heading back to the inn, as it was only a little more than half an hour left, and we might as well check out. We were engaged in a lively conversation about battle tactics, and I was personally coming up with different ways to make her smile each time it was my turn to respond. We rounded a street corner and that's when I saw one, and was forced to freeze.

"Let's go around the other side."

"What are you talking about? We're here already!"

"The scenery there is, um, better."

"Scenery? Nash, we're in a _town_. You sound as if you're scared of something."

Her eyes scanned the road for what could possibly be the origin of my discomfort, then saw it prowling steadily across her path.

"For once, I sincerely hope that you are joking."

"I'm not. I really, REALLY hate dogs."

She probably would've laughed if it wasn't keeping us from getting to our destination. I shrugged as if to say, _can I help it? _"Come off it," She said with some sort of firmness. "It's a _dog_, it couldn't possibly harm you." The mongrel fixated its eyes on us and wagged its tail, making these disgusting slurpy noises in its throat. It started edging nearer.

I wanted to back away, but either out of pride or anxiety, my legs were stuck to the ground. "I'm not afraid of them, exactly, yet it's been my experience that all dogs have a sardonic tendency to piss on me, chew my socks or get me filthy one way or another, and I'm not in the mood to test if this one's the same."

"Let's go," She tugged at me forcibly. I liked how she was forced to grip my shoulder when she did that, and it _almost _made me move – almost.

"Look, if my clothes get dirty, we'll have to wait even _longer _to have them cleaned."

"You said you didn't need proper soap and detergent for anything but your scarf. Now stop being so absurdly paranoid and let's _go!_" She pulled me harder this time and my feet finally came unstuck; I even wobbled forward a few spaces to steady myself. The dog, thoroughly excited by our appearance and supposed attempt to befriend him, came rushing at us with a lolling, drooling tongue. Chris laughed as if she thought it were _cute. _I was promptly horrified.

Seeing how we weren't going to get anywhere with it being near me, though, she humored it with a pat on its head then pointed in the other direction and said, "Go. Go." It went around in a circle and sniffed her boot. She used it to prod him away gently. I used this opportunity to slowly, discreetly creep away and go on towards the inn. It was a shame, of course, to have a girl save you, but I always knew that in this journey, it wasn't _me _playing the role of knight-in-shining-armor.

I suppose there wasn't a need for a head start, because after a moment the dog decided to leave us well alone, trotting in the other direction with its tail stuck up in the air. Chris smiled after it before walking brightly over to my side, smug at my phobia. I scratched my ear sheepishly as we continued on our way, then opened my mouth to think of a brilliant excuse.

"It's only because once, in one of my travels --"

She cut me off. "I want to hear the real story. Why?"

I sighed. "I was…getting to that. Well, if you must know _now_, my family once owned a dog, the spotted kind – a Dalmatian, yeah, that was it. I didn't mind it much for most of the time; my sister liked it best, so generally it was her responsibility to care for it. But one day I just attempted to be kind to it and rubbed its head, and it got all weird and leaped up on me and then _peed _on me, and it _sniffed _its pee which was on my _pants_, and _licked it _and…" I broke off to shudder, the memory disgusting me to no end. "…and ever since that day, I would go into my room and find it lying on my bed, or nibbling on my socks, or pissing wherever it pleased. I don't know why other dogs do it too. Maybe they sense my hatred and decide to punish me by making me stink, I dunno exactly." I closed my eyes as if burdened by this terrible fate of being chased by dogs all my life.

"I imagine my kids and my kids' kids will be cursed like this too, huh?"

"Aren't they?"

I stopped and stared. "What do you mean?"

She looked back at me, surprised. "I'm assuming you have children, since you're already thirty-seven and married, aren't you? Besides, I'd never question your fondness for certain improper…acts."

"Ah," I answered, taken aback. I hadn't thought of _that_. "Oh, well, nah. We don't have kids yet. The missus doesn't think she's ready."

Chris raised a doubting eyebrow but said nothing more. We walked in silence for a while, as I was so stunned at her having found a loophole in my wonderfully fabricated married life. She, in turn, seemed content enough with the origin of my cynophobia, and was also probably doubly satisfied at my torturous helplessness towards the stupid mongrels.

She suddenly stifled a laugh. "Nash, do you know what it _means _when dogs – well,_expel _on you?"

"I've never bothered to find out, no."

"Someone told me before that it's a way of marking their territory. The dog _liked_ you, and that's why he did that, and also why he stayed in your room to no end after. You probably shouldn't have patted it. All dogs must like you, then, if they all act the same way." She put her hand to her mouth and smothered a giggle.

I sighed. "So that's it? Darn."

The sun moving slightly past overhead told me we only had half an hour left.

"In conclusion, I attract the dogs but not the girls?" I said this while flashing the most roguish smile I could.

She pushed me away, but it wasn't in a condemning manner; it was actually kind of lighthearted (dare I say sweet?), and I could see she was _grinning_ as she answered, "Indeed."

* * *

A/N: Once again, liberties with Nash's hatred of dogs. And once again, I did my best to be realistic and accurate, but I'm sure there are many loopholes and troubles with the actual Suikoden plotline. I hope nothing was too mistaken, though.

If you read it and liked it, please review. All comments are appreciated. :D


	3. And After

**III. And After**

There was nothing more to look at in town, and only so much time to go before my scarf would have dried, so after checking out of the inn we sat in the town square, on one of those quaint little benches surrounding a fountain of what looked somewhat like a cross between a water nymph and an elf. Pigeons flapped around us and the ringing of a church bell punctuated the air as we sighed, and said nothing, thinking our own, private thoughts. I rummaged in my pocket for one of those crackers I would use to bribe Dominguez Jr. with, and cracked some bits of it away to toss to the birds.

I offered one to Chris, too, and she took it gladly and thoughtlessly. "Just how long have we been traveling together?" She asked absently, as the birds clustered more tightly around us.

"Nearly three weeks," I automatically replied, then added, "Three weeks, and not a kind word from you yet!"

She picked off another bit of bread and flicked it into the crowd of wings before us. "I guess not," She admitted quietly, finally seeming to concentrate on what we were saying. "I haven't been very kind, have I?"

_No, but you've been pretty accusing and unfair,_ a voice in my head sounded, but of course I couldn't say that. "Aw, don't let it make you feel bad. It doesn't bother me. Haha." I beamed widely to show I wasn't really hurt – and well, I wasn't, was I? It could be a sadistic tick in me, but I had gotten used to the battering of girls, so my experiences with Chris weren't too bad, and quite light really compared to the hell Sierra put me through. Although it _would_ be nice for a change to feel her hand smoothing my face instead of slapping it – alas, no, my thoughts were going to unthinkable things again, and that wouldn't do. I snapped my cracker into another tiny piece somewhat forcibly.

"Would you stop lying for even a moment?"

"Honestly, Chris, you've been very kind."

I looked at her to show how earnest I was, but she didn't meet my eyes, and instead seemed to be getting more and more irritated. What had I said?

"Oh, that's very nice of you, Clovis. I humble myself to admit otherwise, and you try to be gallant and make me look a fool! Unbelievable."

I was stunned. "What? I'm not trying to make you look stupid!"

"Then accept my apology, dammit!"

"I don't need to!"

But her glare was venom, so I shrank back and said, "If it will really make you feel better…"

"I'm sorry for being mean." She growled out resolutely. I marveled at the tone in her voice. So _this _was why those knights didn't dare cross her. "You don't exactly make it easy for me, but I'll admit I've gotten angry far more than I should have. Like now," And suddenly she seemed to realize the steel in her voice, and reverted it back to her original, surprisingly soft timbre.

"A lot has been going on for me, and sometimes it's more than I can handle, so…well, maybe in some ways I was taking it out on you. I've also been rude and judgmental, perhaps even close-minded on some matters, and I apologize for being so." She sighed. "All right, so I do think you're a Casanova, and that you haven't got an ounce of fidelity in you. I also think you were terrible for lying to me and only telling me you were a Harmonian spy _long _after you could have already passed on valuable information, but the fact is that you still told me, and…" She spelled the next words out carefully, taking a great deal of effort to suck up her pride. "…I don't really hate you, Nash, even though I've told you so some times before. I appreciate what you've helped me with so far. Thank you."

She glanced at me with a mixed expression – part apprehension at my lording it over her for finally admitting my worth, part strangely upheld defiance, and part sincerity, to show me she wasn't joking.

It wasn't her words – I had known more than half of them without her needing to admit them, although I admired her for doing so, and to me, of all her enemies. It wasn't the pretty way she had arranged her hands on her lap and looked at them the whole time as she said that. It wasn't even the delicate tremble and lack of self-importance in her speech, which threatened to be cut off at every sentence, out of the unbearable shame.

But in that moment I realized I really _did _like Chris: more than I should, and even more than I did before, if that was possible. Still – I was nearing forty, and wary of passion, and learned against love. It _couldn't _be love, now, could it? Of course not, of course not. I liked her, admired her, for Chris truly was a good person, and that was it. _That was it_.

"I appreciate your words, Chris. Thank you, and if you still think you owe me an apology, you're forgiven. I'd better ask for your forgiveness too, then, to be fair."

She nodded her head which had threatened to flush scarlet, but seeing how coolly I accepted her words, she recognized that there was no need for embarrassment. Apparently having taken a load off her chest at that, she threw the last of the crumbs to the birds, stood, and dusted off her clothes. "I think your laundress is waiting, Nash." I pushed myself off the bench, and at the clamoring of the pigeons, threw what remained of my crackers too, reminding myself to pick some up the next time I returned to Harmonia.

"Probably. Let's go, then?" I gestured towards the end of the road, where _Sally's_ was waiting.

The birds flapped away and we began walking on in silence, until Chris clapped a hand onto my back and gave me the words I was waiting for, wondering if she'd ever say them.

"I've forgiven you."

_-xx-_

Sally was happy to have me back, but her face paled dangerously when my 'missus' appeared behind me. I sincerely hoped she wouldn't mention anything about our honeymoon, otherwise I'd lose the friendly mood we were sharing. In a great show of being in a hurry, I repeatedly asked her if it was dry. Seeing that she couldn't keep me there longer after all, she resigned to mumbling about just a while more, and then, when I started drumming my fingers on the table and Chris shushed me quickly for my insolence, she disappeared to the back for a moment and returned, laying my scarf on the counter. I took it graciously, and reminded her that she had promised it free. At this Chris jabbed my back and smiled sweetly and said "Of course not, Miss Sally, we'll pay our due," and quickly dropped some coins onto the table, which the wobbly woman seemed to appreciate.

"Oh, really, that wasn't _necessary_." I couldn't help adding, working out the remaining finances in my head. But Chris started glaring again, and already Sally had collected them into her apron pocket, so with a last flourish of regret I smiled at her, thanked her for doing a good job with my favorite article of clothing (she was reduced to blushing), and bid her farewell, after which Chris and I stepped back out into the village. The bell rang as it had earlier that day, tinkling softly.

I wrapped my scarf around my neck, carefully. My liver was back in place, at last.

My pride, and one of the only things I could call my own.

Chris watched me as I did so, and I made a conscious effort not to say anything sly. When I was done, I cricked my neck a little (my middle-aged body was prone to stiffness), then turned to my companion and smiled. "That didn't take so long now, did it? We actually got to accomplish quite a lot."

She shifted in her boots. "You're right. But still, now we've got to continue on."

"Certainly." _Sally's _was at the end of the road, and the little path that extended beyond it led to the next forest already. It was in that direction that we started pacing, stopping only as a village guard expressed his gratitude for coming to see the village.

Once we had left, my mind drifted to all the things I had considered, and learned, that day. And one stinging thought stuck to me: I can't have a lot of things. I can't have a family, or even just a missus; I can't have a name that's true to me, or the claim that I'm fearless, or honest because I'm simply _not_; and I can't have (which is the most glaringly obvious, and at that moment, rather sad) Chris. I really am only what I am – a man _without_, and I wish it were so much easier to despise all the things I know I can never have, because then, it wouldn't hurt this much.

I clutched at my scarf. At least, at least.

Then suddenly, I remembered where we were going, and even as the trees around us grew thicker and the sun was obscured by their leafy branches, I unwrapped the scarf. "Hold still," I said to Chris, and she did as I ask, puzzled. I wrapped the scarf properly around her neck, smirking because her traveling coat was green too, and the two materials rather complemented each other. Before she could ask why or move to take it off, I quickly said, "We're heading up north now, because that's where Wyatt is. It's going to be cold ahead, and my jacket's collar hides more of my neck than yours does, so…just wear it. Please."

She wanted to protest, but it probably did _warm _her and besides, I had been telling the truth, so she complied by bowing her head a bit. I felt relieved, and glad now, as if I were sharing something rather special, although I probably wasn't really. It was all I could offer, though, and the north wind _was _cold.

Something told me she was going to ask a question, but she seemed certain that my missus made it, because that wasn't what she inquired about. Instead, she touched it lightly, and wondered, "Why is it striped green?"

Simple.

"Green's my favorite color."

"Oh." She looked at me from over its folds. Then, to my immense surprise, she took my hand and held it for a moment, and said in the lightest, kindest tone I had ever heard her speak in,

"It's very warm."

And although neither of us said anything after, I kept on a smile as we went on, and when Chris returned the scarf much later on, her fragrance remained on it, adding to my ever growing memories.

**END**

A/N:Well, that's the end of it! This chapter had the most Chris dialogue, so hopefully I got her tone right. This story was written and finished for A.

Thanks for reading, and as always, all comments and reviews are greatly appreciated. :D


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